


the writing on the wall

by azazelsocks



Series: Boy King Sam discord prompt fills [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester in Hell, Gen, Graffiti, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24210097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azazelsocks/pseuds/azazelsocks
Summary: For the prompt:Revered, feared, long gone or just tearing up earth? Write something about how other hunters/demons/angels talk about Sam behind his back. It can be during his time as a hunter, as boy king, as a special child…Essentially: What do demons & hunters write about Sam on bathroom walls? :D Challenge: It's all from someone else’s POV, never from Sam’s.Dean reads something concerning on a bathroom wall in Hell.
Relationships: Alastair & Dean Winchester
Series: Boy King Sam discord prompt fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747438
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26
Collections: BoyKingSam discord server prompt-fight fills





	the writing on the wall

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in the last ten years of Dean’s time in Hell. The non-canonical demon names here are esoteric object classes from the SCP Foundation, because I was feeling a little silly.

They had bathrooms in Hell. Which had been sort of surprising at first, since demons didn’t strictly speaking need to shit. Hell had bathrooms anyways. Not _nice_ bathrooms, by any stretch of the fucking imagination. Mostly, they were used for demons to get up to the regular perversions—drugs, sex, petty vandalism. 

The particular bathroom Dean frequented was, like most of them, a complete shithole, but it was also the only source of running water that wouldn’t turn to acid on him halfway through. Hell had done wonders to curb his germaphobia, but he still hated to be caked in gore and bodily fluids. 

“Hey Dean,” said the junior apprentice slouching next to the entryway smoking something Dean didn’t recognize the smell of. “You hear about—”

“Don’t want to fucking hear it, Mendax,” Dean growled. He’d had more violent versions of this discussion with the other junior apprentices several times—bad enough he had to share a workroom with them, he didn’t want to be part of their freaky hell gossip.

She sneered. “You think you’re so much fucking better than us, Winchester, just ’cos you’re his favorite, you’re such a fucking—”

“Take it up with the boss man,” Dean interrupted and shouldered past her. He heard her spit in his general direction and dodged to the side of the door before it hit him.

Ignoring the pair of senior apprentices using a damned soul to set up a gloryhole, he went to the row of crumbling, stained sinks. It took some scrubbing under the anemic flow, but the vitreous humor finally started to flake off. Still rubbing goo off his knuckles, Dean leaned forward and peered at his face in the mirror. He wouldn’t be able to get himself properly clean until he was back in Alastair’s quarters, but he preferred to show up at least halfway presentable after he finished his assignment for the day. 

Little smear of blood to the side of his mouth. He rubbed that off with a wet finger, reading the recent graffiti absently as he did so.

_Bathory fucks hellhounds_

_Tiemat <3 Hiemal_

_LUCIFER IS REAL_

_dont throw toothpicks in the toilets the crabs here can pole vault_

_~~humans are toys not kings of Hell~~ fuck off_

Dean’s brow furrowed at the last one. Sounded political, but he didn’t know what the fuck that might be about. Underneath, in three different hands:

 _I WOULD VOTE FOR SAM_  
_this is hell not a bloody democracy_  
_I Would Fuck Sam :)_

And:

_as long as he’s not as fucking ANNOYING as his brother Dean_

Something horrifying started to coalesce in the back of Dean’s mind. Shoving the faucet off, he shook his hands out and left the bathroom. Mendax was gone, thank fuck, and he made it back to Alastair’s unbothered, trying desperately not to line the pieces up in the configuration that made most sense. 

_Least_ sense. Fuck. As if Sam would _ever—_

“Hello, Dean.”

Alastair punctuated his greeting with the sharp noise of a grindstone drawn across steel. It might’ve seemed threatening, but Dean knew by now when Alastair was fixing to hurt him and this wasn’t it. He wasn’t looking at Dean, focused on honing his knives with careful precision.

Taking a deep breath, Dean shut the door behind him.

“Hi, Alastair.”

“Hm.” Alastair raised his cleaver, checking the blade against the light. “Something on your mind tonight, dear boy?”

Dean didn’t bother trying to deny it. As always, his emotions were an open fucking book to Alastair. “Yeah, uh…” He crossed the room to sit down at the other side of Alastair’s worktable, hands folded in his lap. “Have you ever heard anything about a, uh, human king of Hell?”

Setting the blade down, Alastair turned his full attention on Dean. “It’s something Azazel used to talk at length on, yes.”

Dean took another breath. “Do you know…who it’s supposed to be?”

“I’m sure I don’t.” Alastair smirked. “The scheme likely died with Azazel. You know politics are not of particular interest to me, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean had to resist the urge to stare down at his lap, knowing how much Alastair preferred eye contact.

“My work is the most important thing to me. No matter who sits on the throne, Hell will always need rackmasters.”

“Yeah.”

“So. No more talk of kings. You should be focused on your studies.” There was never any arguing with Alastair. “Tell me how your latest project has been progressing.”

It was just a bunch of bathroom graffiti. No evidence that it meant _his_ Sam at all. Dean forced himself to put his nagging worries aside and opened his mouth to tell Alastair what he’d done that day.


End file.
